I found the Willamette deep enough for ordinary steamboats, for the distance of twenty miles from its western mouth. One mile below the falls are rapids on which the water was too shallow to float our canoe. The tide rises at this place about fourteen inches. The western shore of the river, from the point where its mouths diverge to this place, consists of lofty mountains rising immediately from the water-side, and covered with pines. On the eastern side, beautiful swells and plains extend from the {202} Columbia to within five or six miles of the rapids. They are generally covered with pine, white-oak, black-ash, and other kinds of timber. From the point last named to the rapids, wooded mountains crowd down to the verge of the stream. Just below the rapids a very considerable stream comes in from the east. It is said to rise in a champaign country, which commences two or three miles from the Willamette, and extends eastward twenty or thirty miles to the lower hills of the President’s range. This stream breaks through the mountain tumultuously, and enters the Willamette with so strong a current, as to endanger boats attempting to pass it.[3] Here were a number of Indian huts, the inmates of which were busied in taking and curing salmon. Between the rapids and the falls, the country adjacent to the river is similar to that just described; mountains clothed with impenetrable forests.
The river, thus far, appeared to have an average width of four hundred yards, water limpid. As we approached the falls, the eastern shore presented a solid wall of basalt, thirty feet in perpendicular height. On the top of this wall was nearly an acre of level area, on which the Hudson Bay Company {203} have built a log-house.[4] This plain is three or four feet below the level of the water above the falls, and protected from the floods by the intervention of a deep chasm, which separates it from the rocks over which the water pours. This is the best site in the country for extensive flour and lumber-mills. The valley of the Willamette is the only portion of Oregon from which grain can ever, to any extent, become an article of export; and this splendid waterfall can be approached at all seasons, from above and below, by sloops, schooners, &c. The Hudson Bay Company, aware of its importance, have commenced a race-way, and drawn timber on the ground, with the apparent intention of erecting such works. On the opposite side is an acre or two of broken ground, which might be similarly occupied.
The falls are formed by a line of dark rock, which stretches diagonally across the stream. The river was low when I passed it, and all the water was discharged at three jets. Two of these were near the eastern shore; the other was near the western shore, and fell into the chasm which divides the rocky plain before named, from the cliffs of the falls. At the mouth of this chasm {204} my Indians unloaded their canoe, dragged it up the crags, and having borne it on their shoulders eight or ten rods, launched it upon a narrow neck of water by the shore; reloaded, and rowed to the deep water above.
The scene, however, was too interesting to be left so soon, and I tarried awhile to view it. The cataract roared loudly among the caverns, and sent a thousand foaming eddies into the stream below. Countless numbers of salmon were leaping and falling upon the fretted waters; savages almost naked were around me, untrained by the soothing influences of true knowledge, and the hopes of a purer world; as rude as the rocks on which they trod; as bestial as the bear that growled in the thicket. On either hand was the primeval wilderness, with its decaying and perpetually-renewing energies; nothing could be more intensely interesting. I had passed but a moment in these pleasant yet painful reflections, when my Indians, becoming impatient, called me to pursue my voyage.
A mile above the falls a large creek comes in from the west. It is said to rise among the mountains near the Columbia, and to run south and south-east and eastwardly through a series of fine prairies, interspersed {205} with timber.[5] Above the falls, the mountains rise immediately from the water’s edge, clothed with noble forests of pine, &c.; but at the distance of fifteen miles above, their green ridges give place to grassy and wooded swells on the west, and timbered and prairie plains on the eastern side. This section of the river appeared navigable for any craft that could float in the stream below the falls.
It was dark when I arrived at the level country; and emerging suddenly in sight of a fire on the western bank, my Indians cried “Boston! Boston!” and turned the canoe ashore to give me an opportunity of speaking with a fellow countryman. He was sitting in the drizzling rain, by a large log-fire—a stalwart six foot Kentucky trapper. After long service in the American Fur Companies, among the rocky mountains, he had come down to the Willamette, accompanied by an Indian woman and his child, selected a place to build his home, made an “improvement,” sold it, and was now commencing another. He entered my canoe and steered across the river to a Mr. Johnson’s.[6] “I am sorry I can’t keep you,” said he, “but I reckon you’ll sleep better under shingles, than this stormy sky. Johnson {206} will be glad to see you. He’s got a good shantee, and something for you to eat.”
We soon crossed the stream, and entered the cabin of Mr. Johnson. It was a hewn log structure, about twenty feet square, with a mud chimney, hearth and fire-place. The furniture consisted of one chair, a number of wooden benches, a rude bedstead covered with flag mats, and several sheet-iron kettles, earthen plates, knives and forks, tin pint cups, an Indian wife, and a brace of brown boys. I passed the night pleasantly with Mr. Johnson; and in the morning rose early to go to the Methodist Episcopal Mission, twelve miles above. But the old hunter detained me to breakfast; and afterwards insisted that I should view his premises, while his boy should gather the horses to convey me on my way. And a sight of fenced fields, many acres of wheat and oat-stubble, potato-fields, and garden-vegetables of all descriptions, and a barn well stored with the gathered harvest compensated me for the delay. Adjoining Mr. Johnson’s farm were four others, on all of which there were from fifty to a hundred acres under cultivation, and substantial log-houses and barns.
One of these belonged to Thomas M’Kay, {207} son of M’Kay, who figured with Mr. Astor in the doings of the Pacific Fur Company.[7]
After surveying these marks of civilization, I found a Dr. Bailey waiting with his horses to convey me to his home. We accordingly mounted, bade adieu to the old trapper of Hudson Bay and other parts of the frozen north, and went to view M’Kay’s mill. A grist-mill in Oregon! We found him working at his dam. Near by lay French burr stones, and some portions of substantial and well-fashioned iron work. The frame of the mill-house was raised and shingled; and an excellent structure it was. The whole expense of the establishment, when completed, is expected to be £1,400 or £1,600. M’Kay’s mother is a Cree or Chippeway Indian; and M’Kay himself is a compound of the two races. The contour of his frame and features, is Scotch; his manners and intellects strongly tinctured with the Indian. He has been in the service of the Fur Companies all his life, save some six or seven years past; and by his daring enterprise, and courage in battle has rendered himself the terror of the Oregon Indians.